The Last Gate

What is left for the warrior after battle, and all that remains is but destroyed?

I’m collapsed, shattered with worn out armor, a dull sword, blood-stained clothes, and a broken soul. Smoke filled horizons linger above decaying bodies. My eyes diffuse for signs of life, for any hope amid vast ruins. There is none. Red paints the ground as if the sky rained blood.

I haven’t energy to move…let alone stand. Should I join this mass grave of bones?

To what purpose did my fight lead? What guided my blade and drove my spirit relentlessly towards victory has subsided lastingly. A dead end? Is this the awaited curse for vanquishers? I can't tell if the sun is rising or setting. I hope it’s setting...for the last time. None should see all of what once was, annihilated.

A crow screams. I budge just enough to see it perched on the edge of a gate I’m by. It welcomes me as if I crossed the finish line of life. The old rusted gate stands stoic. What was this place? Damn the gate. It proudly survives while my ability to breathe wounds me. Only but a glimpse can I capture on what lies beyond its weathered iron. Is there life out there? A new beginning? The promise of a forgetful past? I can only wonder...

I settle weak, motionless before the gate, with thoughts carrying me to what lies far past. I labor to keep heavy eyes open. My body wants to sleep for an eternity. Perhaps after rest I’ll be able to pass through. But first, let me die.